Fairytales Don't Scream
by veiove-abandoned
Summary: "She cries, because she has offered up her soul and the devil has rejected it." Bellatrix Black was born a princess. Not all princesses get happy endings - especially not the insane ones. (Minor, highly twisted Bellamort.)


_A fairytale princess?_

 _That's nice, darling._

 _Go away, now. We're busy._

 _But never forget that you're right – we_ are _the_ best, _honey._

Bella's first thought was that the marriage was beneath her, really.

The Lestranges were technically part of pureblood society, but it was definitely an isolated one. Their familial home was in a poor area, even if its halls were sumptuous enough not to be boring, and although they were on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it was common knowledge that money had played a hand in that. As Bella's sister Andromeda had said, if the pureblood aristocracy had worked like that of the Muggles, then the Lestranges probably would've been the estranged cousins of a lord.

Andromeda was oddly fascinated by Muggle culture.

The Blacks, however, were an entirely different matter. Famously well bred, dangerous and beautiful, their rare charm drew all the social elite to their parties and their allies included only the _most_ exclusive crowd.

And Bellatrix Black was the darling girl. The queen-to-be, as it were. And yet, even to her, the reasons for her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange remained elusive. There were plenty of others who would've brought better connections with them – Evan Rosier, for one. He was her second cousin, but… well, her family never really had been concerned by that kind of thing, had they?

But she went along with it, stood there in her (hideously constraining) white dress and tried to refrain from feeling like a sacrificial victim on an altar (it didn't work). Her new –husband- met her lips in a clumsy kiss that shrieked of inexperience, while she tried not to gag and broke away from it as soon as possible, even as his fingers worked frantically to be free of her pearl-studded hair.

She nearly flew back down the aisle, the groom struggling to keep up – but, then, Rodolphus never had been athletic, had he? He'd always preferred to while away the days with some illegal dark tome snatched from his parents' meagre library.

He was cunning, but not intelligent. He was ruthless, but he never really understood magic the way she did. To him, there was the light, and the dark, and they should wholly adhere to the latter.

Later, she excused herself and hurried to the shower, climbing in still in her cumbersome dress and scrubbing at her face as if trying to rip her identity from her skin and set it free.

What a lovely gilded prison, she mused. And yet the water still rises, and I am still drowning.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

" _Bellatrix Black. Now, what's a stupid little socialite like you doing here?"_

She's tough, of course – being the first female Knight, she had to be – but she still can't help thinking that subterfuge and murder always were easier than a loveless marriage and a forbidden passion for someone else – someone who is, perhaps, not quite a man.

No, He is more than that.

She is fascinated by Him, by His dark culture and tricky ways, walking way past some unspoken, fickle moral line but so hidden in shadow that no one can get close to Him. He is not a flame, fire – He is darkness within darkness and that is what makes Him so elusive – so deadly and dangerous and perfect. She adorns her mind with her own collective memories of Him, spins a little silver web with them and cements it into a mental room that none can access except her.

And Him, of course. He sees them, sees her, and laughs, for He is not the god she once imagined – He is the devil all nicely wrapped up in the skull of a man who lost his humanity long ago anyway.

And she hatehate _hates_ her husband because he is mundane and born of the most banal evil, whereas He is immortal and cruel.

She crycry _cries,_ because she has offered up her soul and the devil has rejected it, and all the more effort she makes to shape it to his will – using tools of murder and bloodlust – the more she only tears herself apart.

Andromeda leaves – "I'm sorry, Bella," – whirled away by her Mudblood sweetheart (how disgustingly cute). Sirius runs, too, to the Potter boy's house without any word for Bella (she's not jealous, of course she's not) and Bella feels so bitter because she who has known so much pain and will know more can never achieve that happy ending now.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

"Would you die for me?" the devil whispers, and _yes,_ and she would live for him a million times over, too, but he knocks her away with a simple, laughing Cruciatus and Bella is

on

her

own.

The water closes over her head at long last, burning like it's infused with a thousand chemicals, and she doesn't scream, she is patient, and still no one comes.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

She was Bella Black, beautiful, revered and envied, with jewels glittering in her ebony hair and silk brocade falling from her slender, white wrists as she span across the ballroom.

She is Bellatrix Lestrange, broken, hated and scorned, with tangled, matted hair and hollow dead eyes and prison clothes chafing against her skin as she screams futile defiance.

She was brighter than the sun, and now she has fallen from the heavens completely.

"Poor, poor Bella," she whispers to herself as she huddles in her prison cell, because the only thing left to cling to is her sanity, and she can't lose that, she can't and yesshestillhasitdespite what everyone thinks.

"I'm sane, I'm sane," she murmurs, clinging to the bars as the rain lashes against her features, her features which are so scarred already – by love.

She remembers peace, and security, and being the one they all wanted, and clings to that like it's some holy grail.

Holy Grail…

She always liked the old tales – of the Muggle king and the wise wizard and the witch who nearly gained everything, but lost it instead. Now, that same witch is on her mind – Morgana le Fay, twirling through the Blacks' ballroom, diamonds shimmering against her skin in the light of a million crystal chandeliers.

She wears Bella's wedding dress.

Bellatrix screams and screams and tries to reach her as the noose slips around both their necks and Bella is sobbing and this isn't a dream anymore… is it? Are dreams and reality one and the same?

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Morgana le Fay is on Bellatrix's mind again.

"Not long now," she promises, an urgent look in her eye. She's wearing crimson today, gold necklaces around her throat, and these are Gryffindor colours but Gryffindor always seems to win so maybe this is good.

Bella doesn't know what the event is that's about to occur, but from the other witch's voice, it sounds like a good thing.

"Oh, I wouldn't call love good," Morgana says calmly, drifting around the cell, toying with her jewels. Bella wonders briefly how she got in here from the ballroom, but decides not to ask.

"Love can destroy you," Morgana says, "like it destroyed me."

"But you died for something that you believed in," Bella whispers. Her voice creaks mournfully from lack of use and hydration.

"And?" Morgana laughs. "Sometimes it's best _not_ to play the hero."

"I know!" Bellatrix snaps. "Aren't I fighting for the Dark Lord?"

Morgana regards her with something that seems like pity. "I wonder about you, Bellatrix. Such a magical prodigy, like me. So gifted, like me. Such an idiot in love, like me. You try to play the hero for the dark side. It rejects you time and time again. When will you learn that it doesn't need one? It's perfectly happy to grow on its own…" 

She floats towards the outside wall. "It was the first kind of magic, you know. And then a group of young wizards and witches tamed some of it, called it the 'light'. And if that were to spiral out of control… well, the 'dark' would be back. Real magic. The kind I used… you should use it, too."

Morgana vanishes, the ringing noise in Bellatrix's ears vanishes, and she stares in consternation. "Wait-"

Seconds later, the prison wall explodes, and everything is open like a terrible truth, and the stars which she fell from are there again in all their glory.

Bellatrix laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

This game is hers.

 _A fairytale princess?_

 _Everybody's laughing._

 _Oh, you're serious? What a joke._

 _But surely you see that it's on you, darling?_

 **Hi! I hope you enjoyed this latest piece of angsty Bellatrix timeline fic by yours truly.**

 **References: yeah, I linked in heavily with King Arthur lore (Merlin was canonically a Slytherin, so magical kids must've heard the stories about him too, right?)**

 **Also, the Harley Quinn thing. Yeah, sorry… wait, no. I HAVE NO REGRETS.**

 **Some of you might've caught onto the small point I made about Bellatrix persuading herself she isn't insane. I kind of like the idea of her being scared of insanity (agateophobia, lyssophobia, dementophobia, maniaphobia, etc.).**

 **The Rodolphus dynamic will probably be explored in an upcoming fic, so stay tuned :)**

 **Please leave a review to tell me what you thought! (*cough* shoutouts *cough*)**

 **~Darken Every Legend**


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